by Amelia June
Jordan tossed her a sidelong look, clearly not buying her weak protests, and Abby laughed aloud at him. She was positively giddy, enjoying being on the arm of her lover as they milled about. She met many of his past affairs and even more of his friends.
"You know, I feel really comfortable around this crowd. I'm surprised."
"I'm glad. After all, no one here is going to judge you or shame you for being who you are."
"Yeah. I mean, it isn't like I can brag to most of my friends that my boyfriend is a bisexual polyamorist. They won't understand any more than I did at first. Here, though, I don't feel any pressure to pretend you're something you're not."
Jordan froze and turned to face her. Belatedly, she realized she had offended him. Shit.
"Maybe it's not me you should be ashamed of. Maybe they're the ones to blame for being so narrow minded."
"Oh, no, honey, I'm not ashamed of you at all. I just...don't feel comfortable sharing our private life with other people." But why should I be hiding? That is crap. Jordan has nothing to be ashamed of.
"See, here you go. This is how the majority thinks. 'Don't share with us, we don't want to know.' But, babe, you and I can walk down the street holding hands and not be harassed, spit on, beat up, or killed. Not everyone has that luxury. Do you think it is fair to deny a segment of the population the same simple freedoms you and I have now?"
"I agree. I really do. I'm not really sure why I hesitate to tell other people about you. I'm not ashamed or embarrassed by you. In fact, I come to understand more about you every day. Still, I know that I feel hesitation, even fear, when I try to bring it up."
"Well. In this world you can't help but feel afraid. That I understand."
"You have to know that this is all new for me. I'm not used to being part of a minority group."
Jordan smiled gently and pulled her into his arms. Ah, safety.
"I do know that. I'm sorry. I guess I get a little defensive about the whole thing."
"And who can blame you? I'm sorry for being insensitive. I'll be more aware next time." They stood hugging for a few moments. They rarely argued, and both were unsettled by the discussion. Touch helped sooth the burn.
"Jordan!" A voice boomed from somewhere behind Abby's shoulder. "Who is this lovely lady you're hugging? Another new flame?"
"Edan. How are you, man?" Jordan extricated himself from the embrace to give Edan a large hug. Woah, hot, thought Abby, weak in the knees.
"Eh, I've been better, but then again I've been worse." Already he was walking away from Jordan and toward Abby. He seemed to exude energy, almost vibrate with it. "I'm Edan Jameson," he said, holding out his hand to shake.
"Abby Conner." She managed to sputter out her name. Geeze, he's even hotter up close. I'm gonna swoon in a second here. Jordan's sharp eyes caught hers. He knew what she was thinking. I'm sure everyone thinks the same thing. I can't believe this guy is single!
"Nice to meet you, Abby. I see you've tamed our Jordan here. At least for now." Edan smiled broadly at her, grasping her hand. He shook gently but firmly. His touch sent a spark of sexual energy right up her back. Hoo, boy.
"Now, don't give away all my secrets, Jameson. You know too much. You may have to be silenced for the good of my new union." Jordan's eyes twinkled as he slung an arm over each of them. Abby leaned her head on his shoulder.
"New union, huh? Well, congrats, Abby. It takes quite a person to put a leash on Jordan here. He's a cad, but I'm sure you know that. You must be the Abby he always talks about."
"Oh really? He talks about me?"
"Yeah really. All good, of course. We've taken many a bet on when he'd finally get brave enough to ask you out. I'll have to go check the pool; I may be due some winnings."
"Who the hell is 'we'? And why are 'we' taking bets on my love life?"
"Oh simmer down, Prince. I'm just jerking you around." Jordan gave Edan a shove into a convenient grassy patch. Abby gasped as he fell, but Edan just popped back up. He's just a big ball of energy, that one.
"Bite me, Prince."
"Screw you, Jameson."
Laughing, the three of them moved on toward lunch.
* * * *
September 30th, 2007
President Jones put down the report he was reading and stared across the oval office into space. He was stunned without measure, and knew exactly what to do next. He left his chair, moved away from the large desk and kneeled before the prominent cross on the far wall. He had insisted his cross be hung in his office immediately upon assuming the presidency. The cross was large, about half of life size, and portrayed the savior prominently and realistically. Blood dripped from the crown of thorns and the stigmata adorning the son of God, and the replica served as a harsh reminder of what the truly faithful should do.
When Jones was repenting he often fasted, and it seemed to him on more than one occasion that Christ's blood flowed off the cross and pooled on the floor. God spoke to Jones in many ways, but the cross was a constant in his life, having hung in his childhood bedroom, college dorm room, and now in the most important office in the country. On his knees once again before his savior, President Jones began to earnestly pray for the country in his charge.
The report had hit Jones' desk around lunchtime the previous day. America was finally recovered from The Reaper epidemic. No new cases were being reported and everyone who had contracted The Reaper in the last six months was on the mend. The multi billion dollar vaccination campaign appeared to be a total success. Most of America was taking a collective sigh of relief that the crisis was past, and they could get on with their lives again.
The idea of getting on with life was what had triggered the investigation Jones had ordered, which in turn produced the unsettling report. Mrs. Jones wanted a baby. Wanted a son to carry on the good name of Jones and the tradition of Godliness the line carried. Jones agreed with his wife. A baby in the White House would be just the thing to bolster the spirits of God's chosen people. After all, America is the new Israel, the new Promised Land that God has delivered to His children. The Reaper was simply a plague to weed out the unfaithful, undeserving. President Whitaker had proven weak upon taking office, and Jones knew he was not truly a believer. Whitaker had backed funding for women's clinics that performed murder and homeless shelters that fed homosexuals like they were regular people. He stopped funding faith based initiatives in favor of more popular issues. Jones now knew that God brought The Reaper to America so that the country could be healed of its festering sins and become a holy place.
Knowing this, knowing he was charged to lead America to salvation, made what he was now aware of even harder to bear. How would he tell his wife that she was, as far as anyone knew, barren? The President's wife could not become pregnant, though she and her husband were tested for all possible causes of infertility. Sperm counts, tubal blockages, everything was examined and rejected as a reason for Nina's barren womb.
She wasn't alone, either. Obstetricians across the country were sending in reports of an alarming nature. Pregnancy rates had dropped dramatically, to nearly a fifth of their rates one year ago. Scientists in the Centers for Disease Control figured that, while a drop in birth rate was to be expected after Reaper, the plunge could not be entirely explained by illnesses in the last year. Preliminary testing showed no physical cause for the country's infertility. Fertility treatment centers were showing a large increase in patients in the last six months, but no reported success with in vitro fertilization or other techniques. The doctors seemed unable to create life at all.
Bowing his head before God, Jones began to pray for his country's salvation.
Chapter 5
October 14th, 2007
"This is Carla Morales, NPR correspondent. The scientific community is reeling today from an announcement made by White House Chief of Staff Cal Franklin. In his statement, he announced that President Jones signed a bill sent to him via an emergency vote in Congress just yesterday. Among other restrictions, the bill
clearly states that no research may be done on human cells resulting in the creation of a human life.
"The bill goes so far as to define life as beginning at fertilization, even before an embryo is formed. The bill, dubbed 'The Lifesaver' by many on and off the Hill, was funded largely by the pro-life movement. Among other restrictions, the bill clearly stated that no research may be done on human cells that results in the creation of a human life. Individuals in the pro-choice community and the medical communities are already rallying against the new law. The ACLU, backed by the American Medical Association, is said to be planning a court challenge."
Reaching over Abby's head, Jordan switched off the radio.
"You need to water that plant, Abby," Jordan indicated a dying spider plant on the windowsill.
"Whatever. I'm not exactly a green thumb. I'm much better with embryos than plants. And now what am I going to do?"
Samantha had called her with the news earlier. All work involving egg fertilization was totally suspended until Reprotech's legal department had a chance to comb through the new law and figure out what was still allowed.
"Well, don't get too worried. No way this law will remain in affect. The Supreme Court will overturn it, I'm sure."
"Um, in this century? Jordan, I've got couples now who are desperate to have a child. How can I give them hope now?"
"Look, we can focus on your infertility research for now. Let's crunch numbers for a while. Maybe we'll come up with a solution that has nothing to do with creating new embryos. Besides, we know this entire law is just a cover-up for the real truth. No one can create embryos anyway. No life is being created in the lab now, and no one knows why. President Jones has come under some very heavy criticism for the lack of answers from Washington."
Reprotech, along with other fertility clinics, was facing a crisis. No one who sought fertility treatment after The Reaper had been successful. Fertility experts were working on the problem constantly, but so far no one could understand why the usual techniques were not working. Not one lab had created a viable embryo from gametes donated after The Reaper struck. The labs were still able to impregnate women with frozen embryos, and those babies appeared to be growing normally. Couples who came in after Reaper did have the option to adopt embryos in cryostorage, but they could not have a child of their own.
"So the government covers up its incompetence by creating law that forbids further research on the issue? That is ridiculous. How can we solve a problem without the ability to experiment?"
Jordan just shrugged his shoulders, helpless.
"All right. Since I can't do much else, might as well work on data entry. Let's get to work." Abby turned back to her computer, but couldn't ignore the feeling of dread sneaking into the pit of her stomach.
* * * *
October 21st, 2007
"You have got to see this data, it's so bizarre." Abby was staring at her computer screen, shocked. Her boss had given her full run of the lab to perform research, regarding the plummet in fertility rates across the nation. She spent weeks immersed in data from fertility clinics and obstetric offices. Pages and pages of numbers reflecting new patients, trends and demographics arrived via email in a constant stream. Jordan worked the computer end, organizing and calculating data. However, now that a large amount of information was in her hands, it made no sense.
"Come tell me what I'm looking at, because I can't figure it out."
Jordan sat down next to her and scanned the screen. "Well, from what I can see, pregnancy rates have dropped across all racial and socioeconomic lines."
"Yes," said Abby, "but check out this spike here."
"Hm, that's really weird. What do you suppose that means?"
"I really don't know. There must be something we're missing, because that just doesn't make sense."
Abby and Jordan looked at each other, stumped.
"Okay, so what I see here is that single women are getting pregnant more often than married or committed women." Talking out loud often helped Abby reframe a problem.
"No, not just single women. Single women unsure of the father--look at that data." Jordan tapped a few keys and brought up another chart. Sure enough, a huge boom in births showed up. "Single women with multiple partners seem to have the highest incidence of birth rates. Weird. I don't see how this group is more likely to be having babies. What does having multiple partners have to do with getting pregnant?"
"Nothing," said Abby, "the chances of getting pregnant are based on multiple factors of course, but I really don't see how being with more than one man applies. After all, the data isn't spitting out anything about frequency of intercourse--married women who have more or less sex aren't getting pregnant in different numbers. The only factor that seems to stand out is multiple partners. But some women who are married are getting pregnant now, so this isn't totally reliable anyway."
"And how is this related to our complete inability to fertilize anything ourselves?" Jordan wondered aloud, but Abby could not answer.
"I'd love to run a few tests on the gametes we have in storage now, but with the new restrictions on the use of human cells for research I don't think I can," Abby lamented. Samantha specifically forbade her to attempt to achieve fertilization, despite thousands of desperate married couples on their waiting list alone. She's more worried about our status with the government than with finding the real solution to these problems. Damn.
"I can see you are not happy," Jordan interrupted her internal rant. "If we can't find the answers in the lab, we'll have to find them in the numbers. Let me make a few calls and we can start doing population surveys ourselves. Maybe we can get to the bottom of this thing." Jordan, her math whiz, seemed to be truly excited at the prospect of more statistical analysis.
"Field work? Gee, haven't been that lowly since college."
"Aw, come on. A little trip around Virginia and Maryland can't hurt us. Besides, we have got to get out of this fluorescent lighting. My tan is going to hell."
Abby giggled. "All right, Fabio, let's do it."
"I can't believe it's not butter."
On that note, Abby's giggles grew to outright guffaws.
* * * *
Pacing up and down the room, President Jones fumed. Nina Jones, the First Lady, could only sit and watch. So she sat, perched on the plush, king sized bed like a bird, nervously turning the coverlet over and over in her hands. The path her husband walked through his bedroom was well worn. Someone will have to replace the flooring when we leave office, Nina thought.
"Darling, if you walk any more tonight you'll wear a hole in the carpet. Please, please forgive me. I was wrong." Nina, who Michael Jones courted and wed only a year prior to his ascension to the presidency, trembled with fear. She had never seen him so upset. Michael was usually even tempered, if deeply devout. But now, he seemed out of his mind with confusion and rage, and she was to blame. She wanted a child, as did many women like her. She had gone to her husband, crying, begging him to lift research restrictions to help her, help them both, conceive a baby. And now he was angry with her.
"Michael, I know you don't believe in making life in a laboratory. But I'm sure that Reprotech will handle our case with care. I know they wouldn't do anything unethical. Besides, I'm so lonely. I've wanted children my whole life, and now, well, what if we're never blessed with a baby?"
Michael stopped pacing and sat next to her on the bed. He placed a hand over hers, stilling her nerves. "I just don't understand it, Nina. What is God trying to tell me? What am I supposed to do? What is His purpose for me? Why bring me this far, leader of a country full of sinners and the unfaithful, only to prevent me from having a child to carry on His work? Not only me, but to render an entire nation, perhaps the world, barren! His plan is far beyond my reach this time Nina, and I simply do not know what to do. We passed the law protecting all life, we have safely placed true believers in many positions of power now, and despite dissent my approval ratings are good. What more does He want? I feel so
lost."
Jones broke down, crying, and lay his head in her lap. "I know the only thing in this world that you want is a child, Nina. It pains me to know I cannot give that gift to you. I've got the most intelligent and devout men working on answers, but none are coming. Pregnancies seem to be happening, but no one is sure why or how. And I won't relax the restrictions on research to find the answer, either. God would not approve of that, I can feel it. He has done this for a reason; I simply can't divine it right now. You must not make these requests of me again, or I shall be forced to count you among the ungodly."
Nina felt tears welling up in her eyes yet again. She had cried many tears since The Reaper.
"Do you remember when we met, Nina?"
"Of course I do. I was at my mother's gravesite."
"I told you then that I attended funerals to show support for victims of The Reaper. The truth is that God led me to you that day. I know He has a purpose for us, Nina, for both of us. God will not betray our trust and faith in Him."
Nina thought about that. Michael was a good man. He cared for people and wanted all living things protected from harm and under the shelter of God's love. She didn't see anything wrong with that. He was easy to fall for. Still, she could not ignore the voice in the back of her mind. I was so lost in grief for my mother and, soon after, my father, that I allowed him to sweep me off my feet; almost a surrogate for my lost parents.
In many ways he was the perfect husband. He encouraged her to stay home and care for the house, he supported her decisions and rarely raised his voice to her. He never hit or hurt her in any way, only cherished her. But I'll always be second in his life. Second to God. Nina shuddered inwardly at her own blasphemy. God forgive me for my jealousy. You sent Michael to me so he could teach me of you, and here I am, questioning your motives.